THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE MR. PRESCOTT
A little after five o'clock on a dull January afternoon the two sisters
met on the road that ran from Melbrook to the cottage. It had been
just a week since they had actually started in "working." Alma had
just spoken in time to get the position that had been opened in the
young village lawyer's office, guided by a kindly Providence.
"I don't see how you are clever enough to teach, Nancy," said Alma,
looking at her sister's rather tired face with admiration. "I'd be
throwing books and things inside of five minutes. But isn't it
wonderful to think that we are really and truly making money? Did you
ever believe that we could do it? I just hope that Uncle Thomas hears
what we are doing--that'll just show him that we don't want anything
from _him_. I wonder what Mildred would say to us--wouldn't she be
shocked, though?"
Inside the little house, Alma banged the door behind her, while Nancy
shouted gaily to her mother up-stairs.
"Well, well, well, what is all this noise for?" inquired a calm,
masculine voice from the sitting-room. The two girls stopped still,
thunderstruck; for the voice, unfamiliar in its genial accents, was
nevertheless unmistakably the voice of Mr. Prescott! Alma stared at
Nancy, Nancy stared back at Alma, neither of them knowing whether to
stay where they were or to go forward.
"I shan't bite," remarked Mr. Prescott, mildly. Nancy boldly advanced,
being on more familiar terms with the "Ogre" than the frankly terrified
Alma, and to Alma's amazement he proceeded to kiss them both, and then,
as if embarrassed, cleared his throat, and said "How-do-you-do" in a
dry, formal tone.
In a few moments Mrs. Prescott came downstairs. She looked older and
sadder than she had the last time he had seen her, and, because she had
denied herself any new clothes since she had lost the money, she now
wore an old gown which she had had for years. It was not a pose with
her, for she no longer pitied herself, or bemoaned her limited means,
but rather a sincere half-childlike desire to punish herself for
having, as she believed, deprived her daughters of what she considered
the best things in life. Nevertheless, her natural instinct for
daintiness had asserted itself in the little touches of lace at the
neck and wrists--and she looked pretty and dignified as she greeted Mr.
Prescott.
It was not long before the first feeling of constraint wore off. As
Alma said afterwards, it was impossible to believe that they had been
laughing and chatting with the "Ogre" "just as if he were a nice old
man." He called Mrs. Prescott "Lallie," and paid her two compliments.
He gave them a very long discourse on the value of a scientific
education for everybody, and from that veered off into a heated tirade
against the uselessness of modern education, anyway.
"Am I to understand that you two young ladies are--earning money?"
inquired Mr. Prescott. Amusement, chagrin, curiosity, and admiration
were mingled in his changing expressions.
"Indeed we are," replied Alma, quite beaming with self-satisfaction.
"_Ever_ so much. Of course, Nancy makes more than I, now--Nance is
much cleverer than I, but Nancy's work is more the intellectual kind,
you know, and Nancy will probably be famous, and I'll be rich."
"Bless my soul!" gasped the "Ogre," then suddenly he threw back his
head, and laughed and laughed, nor could Nancy and Mrs. Prescott keep
from joining in. The more Alma proclaimed her enthusiasm for business,
the more patent her utterly delightful inaptitude for it became.
Then he grew grave, and turning to Mrs. Prescott said, in a gentle,
friendly voice:
"Lallie, I wish you would tell me--everything that has happened. I
would be very dull, indeed, if I could not guess that you and my nieces
have had a new misfortune. I blame myself. I--I have made mistakes,
and--well, life is very short."
Mrs. Prescott was silent for a moment, and sat up stiffly, as if
uncertain whether she should listen to the dictates of her pride or of
her hopes. Then presently, speaking in a quiet, monotonous voice, she
told him about her bad investment, and why she had made it.
When Mrs. Prescott had finished speaking, everyone was silent for a
little while. Then Mr. Prescott said, abruptly:
"You have been only vain, Lallie." Then, bluntly but not unkindly,
turning to Mrs. Prescott. "Very vain, very foolish. And now that
we've talked business, I'm going to ask if I may stay to supper?"
Of course he stayed. And Hannah, as she saw the last of her delicacies
vanishing silently down the "Ogre's" lean, old throat, indulged in a
bright vision of his eventual surrender.
But, having stuck to his principles for thirteen years, Mr. Prescott
was not a man to change them in a moment of impulse. After that
evening at his niece's he made no further reference to their affairs,
and seemed quite oblivious of their difficulties. Some very narrow
straits lay ahead of the Prescotts, and they had to deny themselves
things that once their little income had allowed them.
Winter wore away into spring, and the girls went on doggedly with their
tasks. Miss Bancroft had gone away for a month or so. They had been
to see her several times during the winter, and she had dropped in to
see Mrs. Prescott fairly often. There had been something very
delightful in those few afternoons spent with her; for she was one of
those charming old ladies who remain perennially girlish, and her
interest and sympathy in their talk had won from them a very warm
affection. Mr. Arnold had not appeared on the scenes during the entire
winter and spring; having gone to England, Miss Bancroft had casually
explained, for an indefinite stay. This intelligence had depressed
Nancy unaccountably, but she explained her depression to herself on the
grounds that she was worried about reclaiming the ring, which she
valued so dearly.
As the days grew longer, they had their tea out in the little garden,
which Nancy zealously tended. And these pleasant evenings made the
whole day seem quite cheerful--if it had not been for the incessant
worry about the future.
One afternoon in the middle of the month, they were sitting out in the
little arbor, where the vines, covered with a veil of delicate, sticky
little leaves, already offered a light shade from the beams of the
western sun. As Nancy turned her head to say something joking to Alma,
she noticed for the first time how very quiet her sister had been while
they had been talking. Alma was lying full length on the little bench,
with her arm across her eyes. Evidently feeling that her mother and
sister were wondering what was the matter, she took away her arm,
revealing a feverishly flushed face and heavy eyelids. "I just have a
beastly old headache," she explained drowsily. "It isn't anything but
spring fever."
"You poor little kid!" cried Nancy, going to her in concern and
throwing her arm around her.
"It isn't anything," said Alma, feebly. "I had it yesterday, too, but
it wasn't so bad."
"Well, I'm going to see if you have any fever, anyway," Nancy said
quietly, not liking the look of Alma's hot cheeks and crimson lips.
They got Alma to bed, and in a few moments after her head had sunk into
the cool pillow, she had dozed off into a heavy sleep. Nancy tried to
conceal her uneasiness, but Alma had a fever of a hundred and one,
which is not common to a simple headache.
But the visit from Dr. Bevan, cheerful as he was, did anything but set
their fears at rest.
Nancy could only stare from him to her mother in speechless
consternation, when it developed next day that Alma had the measles
beyond a doubt. In the morning Mr. Dixon and the Porterbridges were
notified that the Prescotts could not be at their work. The situation
was indeed a pretty serious crisis in their career; for their income
was reduced at once by something over a hundred dollars a month. This
worry, however, was completely dwarfed when, on the third day after
Alma had fallen ill, Dr. Bevan announced that he thought it best to
send a trained nurse.
Nancy had had about all that she could bear, and without saying another
word, rushed off, to bury her face in the sofa cushions, and smother
her frantic sobs from her mother's ears. It seemed to her absolutely
certain that Alma was going to die, and her mind filled with little
forgotten memories, each of which stabbed her with an agonizing pang of
misery.
The nurse, a very tall, strong, rosy woman named Miss Tracy, arrived
about noon-time and, quickly changing into her stiff white uniform,
ordered Mrs. Prescott off to lie down, telling Nancy that there was no
need for either of them to worry. Her presence, her brisk, thorough,
confident manner, lifted a hundred pounds from their hearts, and for
the first time in three days they drew a breath of relief. Mrs.
Prescott, who sadly needed sleep, lay down in her own room, and Nancy,
who had not been out of the house since Alma had fallen ill, took a
book and went out onto the porch to free her mind of worries that
seemed to have dulled her thoughts. Everything had become so
complicated, it was so utterly impossible to know what was to be done,
that she felt as if it were no use worrying, as if something unforeseen
would have to happen to solve difficulties that were absolutely beyond
their power to solve. And so she merely wondered idly how the nurse's
bills and the doctor's bills were to be paid. And finally, the warm
air and the whirr of the lawn-mower, and the sleepy hum in the vines,
made her drowsy; her eyelids fell, opened, and then closed again.
"Oh, yes, I'm a very great man. I know the King of England
intimately," someone who did not look at all _like_ Mr. Arnold, a fat,
pompous-looking man with mutton-chop whiskers, who, however, was Mr.
Arnold, kept repeating to her; and she kept wondering, "Why did I think
he was so nice? Why did I think he was good-looking?"
Then all at once she heard someone coming up the wooden steps of the
porch. She sat bolt upright, putting hasty hands to her tumbled, curly
hair, and with dazed, sleepy eyes stared at the newcomer with a
positively unintelligent expression of amazement. At length she
articulated, in an almost reproachful tone:
"I thought you were in Europe. You _were_ in Europe."
"Yes. But one doesn't have to stay in Europe, you know, unless they
put you in jail over there, and I always try to avoid that," returned
Mr. Arnold pleasantly.
"But you've been there for months," said Nancy, quite aware that she
wasn't talking perfectly good sense. And then they both burst out
laughing.
"Alma is ill," Nancy told him. "She has measles, and we are in
quarantine, so you ought to go away."
He looked at her tired face, where the strain of fear and trouble
showed in her pale cheeks and heavy eyes, and then he smiled in his
warm, understanding way, and said gently:
"You've been worried to death about something, haven't you, Nancy?
Well, I'm not going to ask you any questions now, only, whenever you
feel that you want to, remember that you can tell me anything. Would
you rather I went away now and came back later on, when you are less
troubled? Is there anything I can do?"
"Oh, don't go away--I mean, it's very nice to see you. Alma has a
nurse now, and I think she is going to be better soon--and it's so
_cheerful_ to see you!"
"Does Mr. Prescott know of Alma's illness?" he asked, after a moment's
hesitation. "I don't think my aunt does. She has just come back. I
landed the day before yesterday, and came down here last night. I--I
asked her about you all, and she said nothing about Alma's being ill."
"No, I don't suppose Uncle Thomas does know," answered Nancy. "He
comes over to see us every now and then, but then again he'll shut
himself up for quite a long while, and I don't think he knows what we
are doing any more than we know what he's doing."
"You know I'm buying a house here in Melbrook," said Mr. Arnold, rather
irrelevantly. "A very nice house--do you know that yellow one, with
the white columns and the porte-cochere over on Tindale Road?"
"I do know the one you mean," cried Nancy. "It's a beauty. There's
the loveliest old-fashioned garden----"
"That's it--that's the one. I--you're sure you like it?"
For some reason or other Nancy turned pink at this simple question, and
tried to stammer a casual reply. Then he went on serenely:
"I expect to have it in pretty good shape in a week or two, and when
your sister is better, I'd love to have you and your mother and Alma
come over and have tea with me. Aunt Eliza is directing the furnishing
and all that--she's quite in her element, but I'd love to have your
expert advice too. Heavens, _I_ don't know anything about chintz, and
scrim, and all that sort of foolishness."
He chatted along, telling her about his trip, recounting amusing little
incidents of the things that had happened on the boat, and completely
carrying her thoughts away from her own personal affairs. But after a
little while she began to notice that he was really not thinking about
what he was saying, that he seemed to have something on his mind, which
he was always on the point of saying, and then veered off to something
else. All at once he got up and remarked abruptly:
"What the dickens do I care personally for chintzes and scrim? I don't
know which is which." Nancy stared at him, thinking that he had taken
leave of his senses. He rammed his long, brown hands fiercely into the
pockets of his gray trousers, took them out again, and thrust them into
the pockets of his coat; then, as if he had taken a deep breath, and
was holding it, he said:
"Will you marry me, Nancy?"
She could not have uttered a word. She simply sat and stared at him.
Then, without being conscious of a single idea in her head, she jumped
up and made a dive for the door. He caught her hand and made her turn
around and face him. He had begun to smile, slightly, and it was that
gentle, wonderfully sweet smile, half-amused and half-tender, that made
her blush from the yoke of her gingham dress up to the edge of her hair.
"Well--will you?"
"I--I don't know," stammered Nancy; with that she promptly turned and
fled into the house.
Mr. Arnold stood regarding the screen-door with a blank expression;
then, after a moment or two, he walked away slowly. It was not until
he had reached the gate that he remembered he had left his hat on one
of the porch chairs.
* * * * *
Alma was sitting up. Wrapped in a pink blanket, with her yellow curls
pinned on top of her head, where they nodded like the heads of
daffodils, surrounded by her admiring family, including Hannah and the
trained nurse, and a perfect garden of spring flowers, which had been
arriving daily since the appearance of Mr. Arnold, she was convalescing
visibly.
"I didn't know that Mr. Arnold was back," said Alma, burying her small
nose in a huge bouquet of white lilacs. "Isn't it perfectly dear of
him to send these things, when I only met him once in my life?" Upon
which guileless remark Nancy turned a lively and hopelessly noticeable
scarlet. To make her embarrassment quite complete, Alma looked
directly into her eyes and grinned deliberately.
"I wonder why he takes such a tremendous interest in us?" she went on,
mercilessly. "I feel it in my bones. I feel as if something perfectly
scrumptious were going to happen." Mrs. Prescott laughed and kissed
her.
"Now, Nancy, come on, and 'fess up," was the bomb which Alma hurled
without a word of warning. "I know perfectly well that you've got
something on your conscience, and I've got a suspicion already that
it's Mr. Arnold."
If she was desirous of creating a sensation, she should have been amply
satisfied with the result of her remarks. Mrs. Prescott, as if she had
been suddenly aroused from sleep, opened her pretty mouth and stared at
her elder daughter for a moment and then exclaimed:
"I must have been dreaming!" Nancy squirmed. She looked reproachfully
at Alma, then at her mother, and at length said simply:
"He--he asked me to marry him." And then she followed with the whole
story. She told them of her visit to her uncle, where she had seen Mr.
Arnold for the second time, and then went on to give a full account of
her memorable trip to the pawnbrokers' with the ring.
"I--I would have told you everything long ago, but I didn't want you to
think that Uncle Thomas was 'relenting' because he asked me to visit
him--and about the other time----" Alma stopped her by leaning over
and kissing her.
"You were paying for _my_ experience," Alma said bravely. "I
learned--I don't know what exactly, except that people like Mildred,
whom I always thought as being important to know, weren't worth one
teeny little ounce of trouble. I learned to be honest with myself, and
that it's a whole lot better to work with your two hands than to be a
toady, for the sake of making things easier,--and lots else. And I'm
going to work hard, Nancy----"
"Stuff and nonsense!" declared an angry voice from the doorway. From a
gargantuan bouquet of hyacinths, lilacs, and daffodils, issued the
voice of the "Ogre." Evidently, finding the front door open, and the
lower floor deserted, and hearing the sound of voices from above, the
old gentleman had borne his offering aloft, without a word of
announcement. Snorting with some inward indignation, he testily tossed
his head to get rid of an impudent lilac which was tickling his nose,
and glared over the bouquet.
"This idea of working is pure foolishness. I never heard of such
women's nonsense before in my life. Here, where in the name of common
sense can I put these flowers, and why wasn't I informed of my niece's
illness?" When Nancy, stifling her unseemly laughter, had relieved him
of his offering, he grew calmer.
"Why wasn't I told that you were ill, my dear?" he asked, sitting down
and taking Alma's hand in his.
"We--we hardly thought of anything until she began to be better,"
answered Mrs. Prescott. He looked at her sternly a moment, and then
his whole face softened, almost to a look of humility and
shame-facedness.
"Once you told me that you were a foolish woman, Lallie," he said, "and
I must confess that for a very long time I was blind enough, and
selfish enough, to think it of you. Now it's only fair that I should
be as brave as you and admit that I have been a very foolish man. I
have been about the biggest fool that ever escaped the badge of long
ears. All I did was to deprive myself of a lot of happiness, and to
deprive some other very dear people of happiness that it was my
privilege to bestow.
"Now, the truth is, that while my 'principles' were excellent,--they
wouldn't work. They didn't do _me_ any good. Hang it all! Here I was
trying to make good, thrifty wives out of you two girls, for some young
rascal--and depriving myself of the sweetest pleasure in life for that
same impudent young husband who shan't have you, anyway!
"They were excellent principles, too, their only fault being that
they--wouldn't work.
"And now, ladies, I herewith adopt you. I shall establish my legal
right to you all. I--I feel--well, I hope I have made it quite clear,
that anything, everything--on this green earth, that I can give you, is
yours. And if you want to make me very happy, you'll demand it
instantly."
For a little time no one said anything, then, heaving a great sigh,
Alma burst out:
"Uncle Thomas, I'll expire if I don't hug you!"
And when she _had_ hugged him, until there was more likelihood of _his_
demise than her own, he said:
"I'm afraid I'm breaking up a brilliant business career for you, ma'am.
The little that I can offer you is a mere nothing compared to the
dazzling prospects which were opening before you----"
"You needn't be jocose, Uncle," interrupted Alma, severely. "Many a
millionaire started on only five cents, and _I_ started on fifteen
dollars!"
"I hear that young Arnold is buying a house here," remarked Mr.
Prescott. "Now, what in the world is he doing that for?"
"Why, indeed?" murmured Alma, wickedly. "The truth is, Uncle Thomas
that he is madly in love with me. He sent me all these flowers, and,
measles or no measles, he has been serenading me every night; hasn't
he, Miss Tracy?"
"Alma! You ridiculous creature," cried Mrs. Prescott, joining in the
laugh at this nonsense. Uncle Thomas looked amused but puzzled, hardly
certain whether to believe there was an element of truth in this
rigmarole or not. He glanced from Mrs. Prescott to Alma, to Nancy, and
there he paused. He was a good enough reader of faces to know now
where the wind lay, and his eyes grew sober.
"Well, my dear little niece, you're pretty young," he said gently, "but
one is never too young to be happy. What do you think, Lallie?"
Mrs. Prescott smiled, although there were tears in her eyes, and said:
"Ask Nancy, Uncle Thomas."
"Well, Nancy?"
Nancy tried to laugh, as she took her mother's hand and Alma's, and
faltered again:
"I--I don't know."
But here we, who can see into the minds of all these people, have no
hesitation about saying in just so many words, that she did know very
well; only she didn't know that she knew.
* * * * *
The "Ogre" had sent a note to his nieces, asking them for dinner on a
certain June evening. And strange to relate it was Nancy who delayed
the proceedings. When she finally joined her admiring family she was
deliciously conscious that a dress of pale gold-colored organdie, and a
broad-brimmed hat trimmed with delicate blue flowers, were about the
most becoming things she could possibly wear. And she was not entirely
ignorant of the fact that she could be very, very pretty when she
wanted to. It was pleasant to register this interesting fact on other
people also, Miss Bancroft and the Ogre, and--well, George Arnold, for
instance.
It was partly on account of the gathering darkness, no doubt, or partly
because Alma wanted to look at the summer-house while Nancy and George
wanted to continue to look at the roses, but however it was--well,
there they were--Mr. Arnold and Miss Prescott, absorbedly looking at
the roses. Or perhaps they weren't even looking at the roses.
"Now, look here, Nancy, if you'll be a good girl, and say what I tell
you to, I'll give you something nice. It's not a candy, either."
"Wh-what do you want me to say?" gasped Nancy, suddenly feeling quite
terrified.
"First of all, put your hand in mine, so," he took her hand gently, and
then lifted it to his lips. "And now say--'I love you, George!'"
"Oh--I c-can't!" whispered Nancy, feebly.
"Yes, you can. Try it, dear."
"Well, don't you, Nancy?" For the first time he sounded very grave,
and his eyes looked anxious. Then somehow Nancy felt quite calm and
happy and brave, she answered him, honestly:
"Yes, I do. I love you, George."
She felt him take her left hand and single out the third finger. Then
she felt something cool slipped on it. She gasped. The first diamond
she had ever owned caught and flashed back a moonbeam.
"Oh--I didn't know it was that!" she stammered. "I would have said
what--what you wanted me to, anyway, George. I mean, _I_ wanted to,
awfully."
He promptly kissed her.
End of Project Gutenberg's Nancy of Paradise Cottage, by Shirley Watkins